by M. T. Pope
Alice Waters, compared to Raven, was a plain but attractive woman. There was no pretense about her and she was uncomfortable whenever she had to wear an evening gown. She never graduated from college but her IQ was in the top two percentile of the country. She made her husband. Alice had been his secretary at a small Silicon Valley startup company. When she met him he lived in a studio apartment and could barely warm up pizza in a microwave. It was she who organized his chaotic world. It was she who kept the company books and fought off the creditors and it was she who married him before the other gold diggers knew the ideas floating in his scattered brain were worth billions. Alice and Raven met and became the best of friends when they discovered they each were more than trophy wives.
Carla McKinney was a trophy wife and proud of it. Her hair was just as blond and her breasts were just as full and perky as the others. The only difference between Carla and her bleached-blond, silicon-buoyed contemporaries was that she had graduated from Harvard with Raven with a doctorate in clinical psychology. Her husband was an investment banker and their contemporary art collection alone was worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
The three women became the best of friends immediately. They were there for the birth of their children. They offered each other shoulders to cry on when their husbands had affairs. They thought of themselves as better than the empty ciphers whose sole purpose in life was to lunch, plan the next big charity gala, and to hang on to their rich husbands. Yet the three were so skilled at playing the “society” game that the women whom they laughed at when their backs were turned were the very same women who welcomed them with open, bejeweled arms into their worlds of lavish wealth and privilege.
They exchanged air kisses when Raven came to the table. Her usual glass of Sauvignon Blanc was waiting at her seat. A waiter appeared from thin air and held Raven’s chair until she made the rounds with air kisses to her two companions.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Roulette. I hope the wine is to your liking,” the waiter said with a thick French accent. “The sommelier has selected it especially for you.”
“S’il l’a choisi je suis sûr que c’est parfait,” she said settling into the wing back chair. “Remerciez Bertrand s’il vous plaît de moi,” Raven replied in perfect French.
“I was in Washington last week and the general was mentioned at several parties,” Carla said, twirling an olive in her pink martini. “You’ve been holding out on us, girl.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Raven replied with a wry smile.
“Save the coy bullshit,” Alice cut in. “Is he or isn’t he?”
“Is who, what?” Raven replied.
“Oh shit, girl,” Carla said, leaning into the table. “Is the general being considered for Milo Fredericks’s ticket or not?”
Raven casually took a sip from her glass. She looked around the room to see who was in earshot and said, “Yes, he is,” with a broad smile.
The women exchanged high fives across the table with manicured fingertips and diamond tennis bracelets waving in the air.
“Oh my God,” Carla and Alice said in unison. “You did it, girl?”
“All those Republican fundraisers and kissing all those pasty asses finally paid off,” Alice said, raising her glass to the center of the table. “To Raven Roulette. The soon-to-be first lady. That’s my girl.”
The clinking of the three wine glasses could be heard throughout the room. Patrons at other tables speculated on the reason for the toast.
“Who told you?” Raven asked Carla.
“Jeffrey and I had dinner with Senator Wilkins and his wife last week in DC. He wanted to know what we thought of Orpheus.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“The truth,” Carla said with a smile. “I said, Orpheus is cool but you got to watch out for that bitch Raven. If you don’t keep an eye on her she’ll end up running the whole fucking country.”
The three women laughed so loud every head in the restaurant turned to them.
“You know that’s right,” Raven said, snapping her fingers.
“How does Orpheus feel about it?” Alice asked skeptically.
“Does it really matter how he feels about it?” Raven said with a smirk. “He’s going to Washington if I have to drag him by his balls across the country.”
“That’s my girl,” Alice said with another snap. “That was the only way I could get Rufus out of that studio apartment. If it were left up to him he’d still be there tinkering with his computers and electronic gadgets. To this day I don’t think he knows exactly how he became a billionaire.”
“There’s no need for him to know,” Carla said. “Keep them stupid and hard is my motto,” Carla said, cupping her breast with both hands.
“Girl, you are terrible,” Raven said, laughing. “But you know it’s true.”
“If it weren’t for the three of us, our husbands would be nothing,” Carla said, joining in the laughter.
“But I don’t completely agree with you, Carla,” Alice said, trying to control her laughter. “Henry could have made something of himself without you. He’d probably be a branch manager for Bank of America in Modesto.”
The laughter continued. “No shame in that,” Raven said.
“None at all,” Carla said, trying to contain her laughter. “But I prefer Matisse, Picasso, and Warhol on my walls to framed posters of clowns and puppies.”
Two waiters arrived with Dungeness crab cakes, charred tuna salad, Peking Duck spring rolls, and an assortment of other delicacies they had ordered.
“Please bring a bottle of Salon, blanc de blancs, Clos de Mesnil-sur-Oger 1997,” Carla said to the waiter. “This lunch has suddenly turned into a celebration.”
The three women nibbled, sipped, and dipped while the buzz of the restaurant provided white noise in the background. Glasses were raised repeatedly to the newest corporate acquisition of a husband, a son making the honors list, a daughter’s successful music recital, a remodeled kitchen, and a new gazebo. Although Raven couldn’t compete with her companions’ wealth she matched them with her intelligence and shrewdness and surpassed them with her beauty.
“Orpheus’s administration will undoubtedly inherit this horrible economy,” Alice said, dabbing her lips with a cloth napkin. “There’s no way this administration is going to have it resolved by the end of their term. Does he have answers ready for that?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Raven replied between bites of grilled tuna. “But by the time I get through with him he’s going to sound like he has a PhD in economics.”
“What are you going to tell him to do?” Carla asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? The problem is they didn’t anticipate the worst-possible-case scenario,” Raven said with authority. “Instead the administration doled out billions in stimulus money and hoped that the economy would miraculously bounce back. And it hasn’t. But more stimulus money combined with reducing taxes will allow the recovery to take place in its own due course.”
“Come on, girls, let’s face it. The economy is going to right itself eventually,” Alice said while summoning the waiter for more champagne. “I think the problems in Israel are far more intractable. What do you think of the Israelis continuing to build in east Jerusalem? Their actions will never lead to peace and the issue is going to land on his desk.”
“I agree with you on that one, but I’m still conflicted on the issue,” Carla said. “I concede that maybe the Israelis are overstepping the boundaries. But how is the Palestinian attitude of opposing everything the Israelis do helping the peace situation?”
“This one is a no-brainer for me,” Raven said, pouring more champagne. “Israel is the only bastion of democracy in the Middle East. The United States needs to support Israel, regardless of her actions, because it serves our interest.”
“I think it’s safe to assume you agree with the governor of Arizona on immigration,” Cathy said.
“You’re damned right, I do,�
� Raven said unapologetically. “Illegal immigrants should be sent back to their countries of origin, and no expense should be spared to secure and seal borders. We can’t continue to spend our country’s limited resources to house, educate, and provide healthcare for citizens of other countries. I feel adamant about this one.”
The conversation continued to include China’s technological contributions to the proliferation of nuclear weapons, problems with their nannies, how the stock market roller coaster had put a dent in their portfolios, and the “hideous” gown the mayor’s wife wore to the opera season opening.
“We must host a fundraiser for you at our house,” Carla said, reaching for the thousand-dollar check. “Oh yeah, and for Orpheus, too.”
The Roulette day had come and gone once again filled with the successes that were the trademark of each family member. Little’O had been informed by the principal that he was selected to represent his school in a national independent school debate competition, while Reva received confirmation that she had been accepted into a summer internship program at the Museum of Modern Art for aspiring young artists.
Raven’s day was equally momentous. After a morning at the spa and an afternoon of lunching with the girls she had returned home and called several of her more discrete Washington insiders. Her goal was to assess the viability of her husband being ultimately selected as the running mate for the governor’s presidential bid.
“Yes, it is true, Raven,” the wife of the Republican senator from Nebraska had said. “Orpheus is on the shortlist. Don’t tell anyone that I told you, but according to my husband he is at the top of the list.”
“I hear the Republican National Committee has already started the vetting process,” went another such conversation. “They’re already digging around in his past for possible skeletons. The word is if he passes this first level of inquiries he’s as good as in.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Raven responded confidently. “They won’t find anything.”
It was now past midnight. Little’O and Reva were nestled in their rooms after receiving their nightly kisses from loving parents. The day’s victories had lulled them each into blissful dreams of wealth, fame, and power. Raven sat in her bed with the glow from the screen of her laptop providing the only illumination for the dark room. Her nails tapped the keyboard, composing gracious thank you letters to friends, colleagues, and soon-to-be contributors to her husband’s campaign around the country who had generously donated to her favorite charities solely based on her compelling requests.
The halls in the house were quiet and dark. The only sounds that could be heard were the occasional creaks of the two-hundred-year-old foundation and the sporadic beep of the security system. Orpheus was the only member on the ground floor of the house. He was in his private study with the door securely locked and the shades drawn. The light on his desk formed a halo around the computer screen that held his attention.
The computer emitted the familiar “ding” and the words, “what cityruin?” appeared on the screen.
“Oakland,” Orpheus typed after a moment’s hesitation. “where r u?”
“San Francisco ... the Haight,” came the reply.
The computer dinged again. “I’ve never seen you in this room before,” scrolled onto the screen.
“first time here,” Orpheus responded.
“i like your screen name, ‘Genera lone.’ what does it mean?”
Orpheus leaned back in the leather chair and pondered his response. He jumped when he heard the howl of a cat searching for a mate outside his window.
Why did I pick that screen name? he thought. Someone was bound to ask what it meant.
The Web site was one of thousands that served as the late-night meeting place for men who preferred the buffer of the keyboard and computer screen to face-to-face interaction. It also provided the necessary cover for the married, obese, shy, and agoraphobic.
“doesn’t mean anything,” Orpheus typed. “couldn’t think of a clever one like yours, Kiss-n-tell.”
The conversation went on:
Kiss-n-tell: i hate these rooms. so many lonely people out there.
Generalone: then why do you come here?
Kiss-n-tell: guess im 1 of the lonely ones 2. how about u?
Generalone: i suppose im one too.
Kiss-n-tell: have you ever met anyone here?
Generalone: never. you?
Kiss-n-tell: never, but always hopeful.
The Web site indicated there were thirty-six other chatters in the room. Disjointed messages scrolled rapidly on the screen. Multiple other conversations continued to weave in and out of their chain of messages. “i’m 8 inches. u?” and “gave a cop a blowjob in his squad car last night,” to “what are you wearing?” and “nutin but my boxers,” went some of the parallel exchanges.
Generalone: what is life without hope.
Kiss-n-tell: a philosopher. i’m impressed.
Generalone: LOL ...
Kiss-n-tell: i hope you meet someone. you seem like a nice guy.
Generalone: i’m really not looking to meet anyone.
Kiss-n-tell: then why are you here?
Orpheus leaned back in his chair again and stared at the screen. Advertisements featuring bare-chested men with glowing, moist skin and wearing Speedos lined the top and bottom of the screen. The messages continued to scroll as he pondered the question.
Leaning back to the computer he typed, “i’m not really sure.”
Kiss-n-tell: are you married?
Generalone: no
Kiss-n-tell: are you sure? lots of married men on here.
Generalone: yes im sure
Kiss-n-tell: how old are u?
Generalone: 45
Kiss-n-tell: in the cyber world 45 means 55.
Generalone: LOL ... in my world 45 means 45. how old are u?
Kiss-n-tell: 30
Generalone: does that mean 40
Kiss-n-tell: LOL ... no it means 30
Generalone: ok
Kiss-n-tell: are you any of the following: 400lbs? an amputee? serial killer?
Generalone: LOL again. would it matter?
Kiss-n-tell: the first two no, but I draw the line at serial killers :)
Generalone: you keep making me laugh. The answer is no to all of the above.
Kiss-n-tell: good cause I lied about the 400lbs and amputee. It would matter.
Generalone: i understand. i assure you none apply.
Kiss-n-tell: good
Generalone: your turn. married? obese? wooden leg? jeffrey dahmer wanna-be?
Kiss-n-tell: now you’re making me laugh! what if I said yes to all of the above?
Generalone: then i would say good night sweet prince and happy hunting :)
Kiss-n-tell: then we’re good cause none of the above apply.
Generalone: that’s a relief.
Kiss-n-tell: it’s getting a little late for me general. think i should be off to bed.
Generalone: just when we were getting to know each other.
Kiss-n-tell: maybe we’ll run in to each other again in here.
Generalone: maybe.
Kiss-n-tell: good night sweet prince.
Generalone: good night sweet prince.
“looking for right now. Anyone interested?” came a desperate message from another faceless person in the chat room. Quickly followed by, “i’m interested. stats?” from another unidentified participant.
The messages from others in the room continued to rush by in such rapid succession that Orpheus struggled to read them all. He could see that Kiss-n-tell was still in the room but he had stopped communicating. Orpheus sifted through the other messages filled with idle chatter and obscene propositions.
The messages kept streaming by but none were from Kiss-n-tell.
“r u still there?” Orpheus typed.
A series of conversations continued after his query. “is anyone going 2 the Gulch 2night?” to “meet me in the Panhandle in Golden Gat
e Park in 30,” and “any hot guys out there want 2 connect?” were among the abbreviated messages that followed, but there was no reply from Kiss-n-tell.
Orpheus checked the list of people in the room again one last time and saw that Kiss-n-tell had logged off. Orpheus followed suit and logged off as well. The computer screen went black. The hum of the hard drive fell silent and the room was suddenly still.
Orpheus made his way up the wooden stairway to the master bedroom. He could see a sliver of light from beneath the door. Orpheus steadied himself at the door before reaching for the knob.
“You’re still awake,” he said, seeing Raven still tapping away at her laptop.
“Just writing a few thank you letters,” she said, peering briefly over a pair of reading glasses that sat on the tip of her nose. “These are people we’re going to need for your campaign. Deep pockets and lots of connections,” she said without altering the pace of her flying fingers.
“I’ve told you, Black Bird, none of this is certain,” he said, removing his pants and shirt.
“I spoke with several of my contacts today in DC,” she said, ignoring his caution. “They all confirmed you are on the list. Two of them said you are at the top of the list. The RNC has already started a preliminary background check.”
Orpheus bolted upright and asked, “Who told you that?”
Raven removed her glasses and asked, “What difference does that make? What’s important is that they are reliable sources.”
“Because I want to know if I’m being investigated.”
“It’s not an investigation. It’s more like research. They simply want to make sure we don’t have anything in our past that could embarrass them later. You don’t have anything to worry about. We don’t have anything to hide. You have the perfect family.”
Chapter 4
Mildred Pierson’s penthouse condominium was filled with the country’s power brokers.
The San Francisco skyline twinkled through the floor to ceiling windows with the point of the Transamerica Pyramid serving as the centerpiece. A string quartet played chamber music on a raised pedestal in the corner of the living room and servers wearing white coats passed trays filled with hors d’oeuvres of toasted brioche rounds with crème fraîche and caviar, lobster salad on endive spears, and chicken liver pâté with white truffles.
